Seductive Shadows (6 page)

“Ignored you?”

I nodded.

She leaned against the door. Her lids looked heavy, her posture was slouched. “I didn’t hear you say anything.”

“I was yelling your name, Em.”

“I guess I was just so focused, I don’t know, it’s all a bit fuzzy…are you feeling sleepy?”

“Sleepy? No…that was a freak show.”

“What does this mean?” she asked, pointing with her head toward the X.

I thought about how my heart had fluttered the whole time I’d been sitting at the table. It had fluttered before, but never that fast or that intense. I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on it, though, or to worry about the trouble that might be up ahead. Moonlight and I could have different definitions of that word, and a night of drinking too much could easily be the cause of the black that would fill my vision.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “Promise me you’re going to forget this ever happened, and you won’t ever go to her house again?”

She nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I promise,” she said.

Just as the tension in my chest began to ease, a familiar tone came from her purse. I was almost thankful for it.

Emma reached inside, handed me the keys and grabbed her cell. “You drive; I’ll deal with her.” Her lips moved into the slightest smile.

“Deal,” I said.

This wasn’t the first time Emma had given me her keys. I actually drove her car a lot. She always said she hated to drive, but I didn’t think that was true; she knew how much I enjoyed it. And Lilly couldn’t afford a car.

Mrs. Hunt’s reprimanding blasted through the Benz’s speakers. She didn’t like to be ignored and she made that clear, but she quickly changed the subject to balloons.

“Take her off speakerphone,” I mouthed.

“No way! You need to suffer with me,” Emma mouthed back.

“Do you want the balloon twists to be solid or alternate colors?” Mrs. Hunt asked. “And is the arc fine, or is there another shape you’d like?”

I wasn’t having a graduation party. Lilly didn’t throw parties; she only attended them. She had offered to take me out to dinner after the ceremony, but it was always the same whenever we went to a restaurant: Lilly would make the reason for celebrating about her. She would never stop at one glass of wine, and at the end of the meal I’d be stuck with a bill she couldn’t afford and a drunk who needed to be cared for. I didn’t need another night like that—and I wanted to save all my cash for Arizona—so I told her I had other plans.

“No, Mom, you’re not listening,” Emma shouted, “I don’t want fire dancers.”

“I refuse to compromise on this, Emma. I have a whole theme planned and—”

“I’ve had enough,” Emma yelled, throwing her phone at the dashboard, which ended the call. She took a deep breath, and her eyes moved over to me. “Charlie, she’s too much. This whole
party
is too much. I wanted a barbeque, but Mom had to go and invite over two hundred people. It’s a graduation, not a wedding.”

“She just loves you; this is her way of showing you that.”

“Three more fucking months.”

“Three more months,” I repeated, “until we’re out of this fucking place.” Not just this place, but away from Lilly, her drinking, and her men. I pulled up to the red light and straightened my back. “Should I drive myself home?” Lilly didn’t go into work until five, and that wasn’t for another two hours.

“Let’s get some coffee, then maybe some dinner,” she said. “I’ll take you home after that. Cool?”

I turned up the music, rolled down the window, and relaxed into the seat. “Cool.”

My arm rested on the widow’s edge, practically glowing from the sunlight. My complexion was unusually pasty for this time of year since we’d had an extra long winter and a cold spring, but the sun was finally out. Winter in Boston was something else I wouldn’t miss.

My foot moved to the gas, and I turned the steering wheel to the left.

“Charlie, watch out!” Emma shouted.

My eyes shifted toward Emma but stopped when they got to her window. There was a car coming directly at us. It was only three car lengths away.

My foot slid over to the brake, slamming down as hard as it could. My toenails dug into the soles of my shoes.

Two lengths.

My chest fluttered as though a flock of birds were dancing their wings under my skin.

One length.

The driver came into view, her face filled Emma’s window. The driver’s mouth opened. I didn’t know if the scream came from her lips, or Emma’s, or mine, but the sound vibrated through my whole body. Then it echoed.

Her car touched ours.

I gripped the steering wheel, the strongest thing I could find, clutching, bracing for impact. With my other hand, I reached for Emma. Her fingers were in the air, huddled over her head, preparing for the blow. I clenched her skin, squeezing her hand.

Our hearts kissed.

I didn’t let go, not even when my planchette body was pulled in different directions, or when the darkness filled my vision.

All I could remember was Emma saying, “Three more months.”

***

My lids burst open; my breath was short and wheezy. I looked to my right to grab Emma, but she was gone. In her place, resting against the leather, were the dress, the matching heels, and a mask. My whole body shook. Where was my Emma?

The answer came as quickly as the flashback had. My Emma wasn’t just gone; she was dead, killed on impact when the car struck her side. And I wasn’t in her Benz; I was in the backseat of a limo on my way to an interview.

We had to be close to the end of the fifteen-minute drive, which didn’t give me any time to come down, to process, to breathe out my emotions. Could I do this? Could I change into this revealing dress and keep my mind on the interview and the questions I’d be asked? Maybe this could offer me a break from Lilly. A way to pay the bills.

And maybe something even more… 

I swallowed the gulp of saliva that had pooled under my tongue and my hand slowly released the safety bar to pick up the dress beside me.

The driver opened the door, and my eyes scanned from right to left and back again as I inventoried my surroundings. I didn’t know where we were, but I knew we weren’t in the city. Woods appeared in the distance; a black wrought iron fence surrounded the perimeter of the property, foreboding, standing at least ten feet high and blending with the night. In front of me was a gothic mansion, massive in scale, three stories tall and a city block wide, complete with gargoyles and creeping ivy. The only other time I’d seen a house this large was when my eighth grade class visited The Breakers, the summer home of one of the Vanderbilts, in Newport, Rhode Island.

“Ms. Williams,” the driver said, lending me his hand.

I held onto his fingers while my feet reached for the ground. He pulled me out of the limo, and I left behind my clothes and my phone, my purse and my ID…everything that made me,
me
. We were parked on a narrow stretch of driveway that circled around the house. A thin, pebbled walkway ended directly in front of the door. I moved two steps closer to the entrance with both heels sinking into the small rocks as a sharp breeze blew through my dress. Goose bumps crawled along the surface of my skin. The cups of the gown bulged just enough to hold my breasts in place, but there wasn’t any padding, and the wind caused my nipples to harden and poke against the fabric. Without any panties on, the satin fell flat against my hips and dipped between my thighs as I walked. The whole outline of my body was on display. That was probably the point.

There were potted trees spaced evenly against the house; the lawn was immaculate, and the landscaping well-kept. The door was an antique slab of wood with an iron knocker in the shape of a skull; ancient sconces hung from the limestone exterior. We were neither in the front nor the back of the house; this was a side entrance. Two men stood by the door, wearing black tuxedoes and eye masks in the same color. One held out his arm, waiting for me to loop mine though, as the other opened the door. I released the driver’s hand and spun my arm around the gentleman’s. I was almost positive he could hear my heart thumping—or feel my pulse pounding against his bicep, at the very least. To calm my body, I concentrated on my walk. I moved with the grace, arrogance, and sensuousness of a cat, as though I had a tail that curled around the air and my feet were paws. I allowed the constricted eye slits of my mask to heighten my lust.

I entered the house with nothing but my mind and body, my heels meeting cherry wood floors and area rugs in dark, rich colors. I blinked, allowing my eyes to adjust to the light. Most of the lamps were off; the glass domes that hung on the walls were filled with candles that lit up the hallway and each room it led to. As dim as it was amid the flickering flames, it was difficult to appreciate the artwork or the intricate details of the painted ceilings…or the sculptures that occupied whole walls and corners. Sensuality covered every inch, every surface.

As we moved through the house, the organ that played through the wall speakers drowned out the noise from our steps. The music reminded me of a haunted house. But the loudest sounds of all were those in my mind. Questions swirled with each step: would I be working in this mansion…where was he taking me…what job was I going to be offered…would I accept it…and why was I dressed like this? I was anxious to find out the answers, and yet I was already turned on by my surroundings, and by the way the dress rubbed against my inner thighs.

The man at my side caused a spark, too. He wasn’t just squeezing my arm and causing a light pain that added to the excitement; his hand was also gripping my wrist. I felt as though I were being led to my room for punishment. His head was pointed straight, his jaw firmly shut. I wondered how many others he had chaperoned, what offers had been presented and if they had accepted. I didn’t think he would answer if I asked, so I let my imagination take over.

I’d never been to an art gala, but I envisioned that I was at one now: this would be the first celebration held in my honor, and I didn’t have to pay the bill at the end of the night or carry anyone home. My
Kerrianna
, my
Day of the Dead
, and a slew of others were being exhibited. The guests greeted me with awe in their eyes. The darkness in my stroke was appreciated and expected—requested, even.

We passed staircases that curled around the edges of each room, floor to ceiling canvases, vases large enough to stand in. My hands twitched for a release; my muse wanted to portray the colors, textures, and lines in paint. Whenever my creativity was stimulated this way, a voice within would scream for a canvas. I didn’t know when I would be home, but I knew what would come out of me when I got there. I would combine the images from this mansion, the emotions and smells, and purée them into a magical assortment of dark and sensual, mirroring the way this dress made me feel.

We stopped in front of a section of books at the back of the library. A guard stood just to the right, arms crossed and feet spread apart. The men nodded at each other. The guard moved the bookshelves to the side, revealing a black wooden door. Once it was unlocked, our bodies created a line, and we moved through and down a narrow case of spiraling stairs. There wasn’t any music in this part of the house. I could hear each stair creak as my feet left them.

When we reached the bottom, the man holding my hand said, “Victoria, I have Ms. Williams here for you.” 

My eyes traveled across the room and landed on the woman whose back faced us. I assumed the Recruiter would be the one to meet me. But this woman had lighter skin; her legs weren’t as long and lean, and her waist was thicker. She stood with her hands on her hips, in front of a wall of televisions. I was too far away to make out what was on the screens, but the scene on each looked a little different.

“Thank you,” she said after several seconds. “Please have her take a seat.”

Even at the hotel, with its abundance of bedchambers, I hadn’t been interviewed in one of the guest rooms. But that was exactly what was happening here. I kept my composure, ignoring my fluttering stomach and sweaty palms.

The centerpiece of the room was a dark cherry desk and two chairs; the desk was empty except for a computer. I glanced nervously at the four-poster bed wrapped in a black satin comforter with an oversized headboard. Two spotlights shone in its direction. Directly above, attached to the ceiling, was a web of chains with a handcuff at the end of each. Though I was a bit apprehensive, I couldn’t say I wasn’t intrigued by them. Dallas had used handcuffs on me numerous times; I trusted him, though, and I knew the maximum amount of pain he would inflict. There was a walk-in closet to the right of the bed, lit up by a chandelier and lighted shelves. At least a hundred pairs of shoes sat inside, with three walls of lingerie and trays of jewelry on top of the island. I owned only a few pieces of lingerie—costumes that Dallas had purchased for me—and a couple pairs of heels that I wore to work. The thought of having a collection like this was exhilarating.

The guard exited, leaving Victoria and me alone. Her ass was just as sexy as the Recruiter’s, but her stance was even more self-assured. She was obviously the one in charge around here. I could feel the power radiate off her body. I wanted it.

Victoria’s gaze made me self-conscious so I turned away. I took a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk and looked at the TV screens instead. Once I realized what they were showing, I couldn’t drag my eyes away. Almost every monitor revealed a couple who were engaged in some form of sex. There wasn’t any sound, but it didn’t matter; this sex was nothing like what I had witnessed between Lilly and her drunken men. These people weren’t sweating and grunting.